The Story Of You Is Already Written

All those fine lines,

so neatly arranged,

radial creased folds

of skin

stretching along the face,

the sagging neck,

the triceps hanging low,

buttocks creased comically,

lips pursed meanly,

even on the hands,

especially the hands,

the lines drawn by time

that speak to us

silently,

telling us the truth

that we do not want to hear,

the real, undeniable,

inescapable truth

that we do not want to see,

the plain fact

of how old we are,

how far we’ve come,

how little is left

of the road ahead,

all of it there

in those fine little lines,

all of your life,

written in skin.